


Dmitri's Recovery

by Holmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: OC city, Recovery, all original characters - Freeform, but cuties nonetheless, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 06:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holmes/pseuds/Holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the successful transnational removal of Azarov and his Russian mob, one of Moriarty's men is critically injured. Despite this victory, dark things are happening all across the empire. This is just one facet of that darkness--the difficult recovery of Dmitri Volkov, wherein he grapples with depression, the loss of his sight, and the forming of a new family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dmitri's Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> This is a small storyline in the mormor universe of an RP I have going on with folkinround. This fic contains strictly OCs, with Jim and Sebastian making appearances only through reference. For those of you new to the scene, Dmitri Volkov is a humble, quiet lad of Russian origins with a a sad past and a constant need to search for a proper family. Jesse Ford is the newest kid to the Moriarty empire. Young, cocky, and American, with a devilishly handsome face and a feeling of invincibility.

“Day thirty-six,” Jesse said aloud, writing in a cheap notebook. The front cover was just beginning to wear with use, as Dmitri was fond of ripping it from his grasp (when he could) and tossing it across the room.

“Oh, hell,” Dmitri mumbled from his hospital bed. His last few bandages came off the other day, leaving him with only his cast and a temporary patch over his eye. “Again with the diary.”

“It’s a _journal_ , douche,” Ford retorted.

Writing wasn’t always a habit of Jesse’s; not until his military days. With a gut feeling that his days were numbered in Iraq, he had panicked, buying a composition notebook off his buddy. He couldn’t explain why writing helped him come to grips with the prospect of death; something about the immortality of words and shit. He convinced himself that it was for his mother, so that she’d have some tangible piece of him when he’d gone. But soon enough, the words he wrote felt too personal even for his mother. It was a piece of him, and wasn’t that just what he’d wanted? He finally admitted that the act of writing was something he did solely for himself, and claimed the talent ever since. He wrote stories—fiction and poetry, when the inspiration struck. It was only when things got really tough that he wrote about his own life.

“Day thirty-six,” he repeated a bit louder. “Dem is being an asshole today. Good sign. Slowly returning to normal.”

Dmitri glared at him with his good eye before smiling and giving a fairly uncharacteristic, “Fuck you.” He laid his head back against the pillows he was propped against, and watched Jesse expectantly.

“Well? Go on,” he said. “I want to hear what you write. You never let me read it.”

“For good reason,” Jesse warned. “Lotta nasty stuff in here.”

“I’m sure,” the boy assented, his eyes closing contentedly. He muttered a phrase in Russian, to which Jesse raised an eyebrow, waiting for a translation.

“Filthy bastard,” Dmitri explained.

“Ah.”

Jesse cracked a winning smile and turned to his journal, giving one last glance to Dmitri before putting his pen to paper, reading aloud as he wrote.

 

 

_Day thirty-six._

_Dmitri is starting to act like his normal, douchey self. Starting to think he’s faking it. It’s been five days since his last surgery, and he’s starting to feel like he’s on vacation. I’m taking the liberty of reminding him that he’s had it easy, and is being a huge baby. He still doesn’t think my weather joke is funny._

Jesse smiled sadly as he penned this last bit. He remembered the first day Dmitri was coming off his meds enough to process what had happened to him; that he was blind, maybe forever. The boy wept, and it killed Jesse not to be able to offer him anything more than a hand to hold and a voice to listen to. He promised never to tell anyone about the waterworks.

When Dmitri had undergone surgery and his vision in his left eye cleared up a bit, he could see almost normally. _The cloudiness would wear off in a few weeks to a month_ , the doctors had said. One day, Jesse walked in with a morning coffee for them both from the cafeteria. He handed Dem his cup and took a seat, furrowing his brows a bit and pointing out the window.

“Hey, look,” he said.

“What?” Dmitri craned his head to see, blinking and squinting. “What is it?”

“The weather.”

“And? It’s blue.”

“Yeah,” Jesse said. “But does it look a little cloudy to you?”

That was the weather joke. And that first time, it earned him a punch in the eye. Well deserved, he admitted. But every time he told it, Dmitri looked a little less annoyed. One day, he even smiled a bit. And once, he replied.

“No,” he said, his voice quiet, hope softening his tone. “No, in fact, it doesn’t really look cloudy at all today.” That was a victory for them both. He had one good eye. He still had a shot at staying under the employ of Jim Moriarty.

Of course, days were not always so easy. Jesse began to flip through the pages. Sometimes seeing your best friend go through something so hard is fucking depressing, and the only thing you can do is to look back on when it was even worse, to remind you how good things had grown.

 

 

_Day three._

_Dmitri just starting to regain his senses. Trying to fucking pretend that he’s still tired and can’t stay awake, but I know he’s faking. I’m trying not to believe that he went into that building with the intent of killing himself, but he’s not giving me much hope with his behavior. What else could it have been? He doesn’t want to talk about it, otherwise he’d man the fuck up and “wake up” for me._

_What is known so far is that the cause of explosion was, as reported by the police, a bombing device with straps, as though attached to a suicide bomber. The explosion left Azarov and twenty men dead (though they’re still searching the rubble for bodies as of today). Either (1)Dmitri fucked up big time, hurting himself unintentionally as he caused the explosion, (2) someone_ besides _Dmitri caused the explosion, or (3) that bastard tried to kill himself, for reasons yet to be determined._

_Day four,_

_He had tried to kill himself._

_I didn’t know much about Dem’s past, but today he told it all. Turns out it’s pretty fucked up. I don’t blame him for being so angry at Azarov. And for all these years too. Shit. I’m not gonna write it down because the past is his business and he doesn’t like it out there._

_As far as what happened during that explosion, he’d rather not have that out there, either. But he forfeit his right to privacy when he acted like a fucking idiot._

_The ultimate goal was to bring Azarov down for good._

_The man had taken away too much from Dmitri. His father, his mother, his childhood. And now he was taking again with Sebastian, Moriarty. It seemed to Dmitri that his family was always being taken from him. And so it became a matter of preserving what Azarov was after. So much so that strapping a fucking bomb to his chest seemed like a good idea. “Just in case,” he explained to me. Yeah. Fuck you._

_He followed Azarov once he got the lead. So fucking stealthy that kid is, that he made it right to the head honcho’s front door, with all his little worker bees inside and everything. Now that bomb—initially just a bit of leverage in case things got sticky for him, a tool of escape—now it seemed more and more like a viable option. Just giving himself up to take out as many men as possible. Fucking bastard doesn’t know his worth._

_Well, he was caught, of course. Snuck into Azarov’s office, waltzed right in, plain sight. He asked the mobster if he recognized him. He said no, and called his men, a bunch of them. But right as they started backing him into a corner real fuckin’ tight, he opens his jacket and shows them the bomb. Now, some of them coward-out and run the fuck away. Others stay to fight, so it’s…well, the boy doesn’t remember. Five? Six men? Doesn’t matter. He had them all down and out for the count in just a few moments. I swear this kid isn’t even human._

_Anyways, Dem gives Azarov his final speech, telling him off for destroying everything that held meaning to him. Just like those god-awful spy movies. Who knew he was such a fan of the drama. So Dmitri does his cheesy speech, probably made Azarov feel like a real dick, and pulled a little remote from his pocket, ready to set off the bomb._

_I can’t help but have nightmares about that moment. I mean, what the fuck? I’m sure he felt so fucking noble, with his arms held out like he was some kind of prophet, face calm and serene. Maybe he had tears streaming down his cheeks. I don’t know. He won’t tell me._

_So he takes his last breath of air and presses the button._

_And it doesn’t work. I’m sure everyone in the room just shit their pants with relief at that point._

_Real fuckin’ quick, someone comes up and wrestles the device from him. Distraught, Dmitri is overpowered, the homemade bomb ripped from his chest._

_I don’t know how Dmitri survived what happened next. Everyone else in the room was dead before the building completely leveled. He was being dragged out of the room screaming, off to the torture chambers or whatever the fuck they do with men who cross them. But, just before they exited the room, that fucking bomb went off._

_He said it was horrible. All he remembers, he says, is a bright light, an unnatural silence, and blood. Everything went black after that._

_Day five,_

_Dem hasn’t woken yet, today. He’s in a lot of pain and his medication is through the roof, so he’s just sleeping it off. It’s given me a bit of time to think about what happened in Moscow, and I think I’ve got it._

_Well, it’s not so hard to figure out, really. The bomb immediately killed Azarov and those few men in the room with him, while the others perished when the building collapsed as a result. Dmitri, by some miracle, survived both the bomb, the shrapnel, and the building collapse, but just barely. Another half hour in that rubble, and he’d’ve been a statistic. I hate that._

_Well, I hope he’s fucking happy. He got his revenge, but at the cost of his sight. Now he tosses and turns every night worrying about not having a job. Because, let’s face it, there’s no way you can work in this field without your sight._

_Day seven,_

_Dmitri fucking hates me today. What a goddamn selfish fucking bastard. I went to fucking Russia with that asshole. I wept like a goddamn pussy-ass baby over this piece of shit. And how does he repay me? By telling me it’s_ my _goddamn fault. That I don’t know anything and that he never wants to see me again._

_Well fuck that._

_I know the little Russian bastard is just hopped up on meds and upset to no end about potentially having no life after this. I think the_ real _reason why he’s so upset is because he’s afraid that Jim and Seb will forget about him now that he’s lost his sight, after all the little guy’s done for them. They’re his family. But they’re also pretty cold bastards, so who knows. I told Dmitri that they wouldn’t do that, but he didn’t believe me. So I told him that it didn’t matter if Seb and old Jimmy dumped him. That I’d always be there for him, and even if he was sleeping on my couch for the rest of my goddamn life, I’d let him. And I would._

 _He got all quiet like after I said that, then he asked me to leave. I can’t tell if he’s angry or not, but here I am sitting outside in the hallway with a shitty cup of coffee (no really, this shit is nasty._ Really _fucking nasty)._

 

 

As Jesse read these passages, he shook his head lightly. Those were the first rocky days of their friendship, and there were plenty more afterward. Rarely will a relationship make it through something so stressful. Friends drift apart a lot, after all. For Jesse, even more so.

But nonetheless, Dmitri remained very much in his life.

 

 

_Day twenty,_

_Dmitri is shrapnel-free! We celebrated by going outside and walking around for a bit. His eyesight is slowly returning, but until then, he’s got a sense of smell like a motherfucking bloodhound and the ears of a bat to match. He heard a particularly embarrassing conversation between a couple on the other side of the courtyard, and on any given day he can tell me what they’re cooking up in the cafeteria without even going down there. I told him that if Jim and Seb don’t take him back as a sniper, they could always use him for sniffing out poison. That earned me a strong punch in the arm, but I noticed a little smile on the kid’s face that really made my day._

_Day twenty-six,_

_Poor Dems is all bent outta shape today on account of the fact that he hasn’t gotten so much as a text from the bosses. We just found out that Sebastian ran away, and he’s super fucking sad about it. He doesn’t think he’ll ever return. He’s used to shit like this by now, but that doesn’t make it easy._

_Now, I’m not mad at Sebastian. I’ve heard the rumors from the guys, and sometimes you just gotta run away to sort your shit out. Hell, that’s why I’m on this side of the pond, after all. But even so, seeing Dem all upset made me so angry at Sebastian. Fuck him. How could he do it? After all Dmitri did? Jesus everloving Christ, what a giant douche. If I saw him right now I’d punch him. And Jim, too—I know his fiancé just left him, but they don’t think we’re having a hard time over here, too? Dmitri_ needs _to know that all he did wasn’t in vain, and they’re just throwing it all back into his face. Well fuck ‘em._

_Day twenty-eight,_

_He isn’t eating hardly at all. He doesn’t want to do anything. What the fuck._

_Day twenty-nine,_

_Still not eating._

_Day thirty,_

_Dmitri has his last procedure today. Something with his heart this time, but it was all pre-scheduled, so things will probably go fine. I’m still gonna worry, though._

_Day thirty-two,_

_Dmitri is done with surgery for good now, unless something unexpected crops up. He’s not as happy about it all as I expected, though. I thought being able to see out his left eye again would lighten the tension a bit, but he’s just lifeless. We’re having the hospital psychiatrist stop by today._

_Day thirty-five,_

_They hooked Dmitri up with some anti-depressants and he’s starting to feel better. He’ll be out of here soon! To be honest, I’m a bit scared. I feel like a new dad after being kicked out of the hospital. What the fuck do I do with him now?! I already know I’m gonna be worrying over him all the time._

_In any case, though, Jim’s been a good man. He’s been paying Demi’s bills without complaint. Without a single word, in fact. He’s gonna keep our wallets nice and fat for when we leave. I do feel bad for him. But worse for Dmitri, if I’m being honest. I really do find myself getting attached to him, which has never really happened before. Don’t know what to make of that._

 

 

At this point, there had been silence between the boys for several minutes. Jesse looked up, and for a moment thought that Dmitri had fallen asleep in his bed. But just then his eyes fluttered open and he turned his good eye on the man, waiting.

So Jesse continued to read aloud as he wrote.

 

_“Day thirty-six._

_Dmitri is starting to act like his normal, douchey self. Starting to think he’s faking it. It’s been five days since his last surgery, and he’s starting to feel like he’s on vacation. I’m taking the liberty of reminding him that he’s had it easy, and is being a huge baby. He still doesn’t think my weather joke is funny. But I suppose that’s because it’s not really accurate anymore. He can see from his left eye, and I’ve convinced him that the scars over his right look damn cool. Really terrifying-like. He’s kind of a small dude, but with that freaky eye of his, no one’s gonna fuck with him._ ”

 

Jesse loved the smile that prompted out of Dem. Loved that he put it there.  And for a moment, he felt peace. They would be okay, and pull through together. They were a family, after all.

He didn’t read out his last sentence.

_Of course, no one’s gonna fuck with him no matter what, because I’m going to be there protecting him._


End file.
